


Acceleration

by Mazarin221b



Series: Simple Physics [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sex, Love, M/M, New Relationship, Power Dynamics, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/pseuds/Mazarin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place one month after "Centripetal." It's not essential to have read it, but it will make some of the emotional mind-set in this make a lot more sense.</p><p>  <i>James Hathaway loves routine, really. Finds comfort in habit, ease and transcendence in ritual and ceremony. Making order of chaos.</i> </p><p>  <i>Which explains quite a bit about his character, his profession, his discarded profession, his scrupulously clean and tidy flat, and his current life. It also explains why he’s standing in Robert Lewis’ kitchen at 7AM on a Thursday with a cup of coffee in his hand and mouth open, with said Robert Lewis scowling at him with hands on his hips.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceleration

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Mydwynter, who made me make something of this story.

 

James Hathaway loves routine, really. Finds comfort in habit, ease and transcendence in ritual and ceremony. Making order of chaos.

Which explains quite a bit about his character, his profession, his discarded profession, his scrupulously clean and tidy flat, and his current life. It also explains why he’s standing in Robert Lewis’ kitchen at 7AM on a Thursday with a cup of coffee in his hand and mouth open, with said Robert Lewis scowling at him with hands on his hips.

“What do you mean, you threw them away?” Robbie says.

“Well,” James starts, and swallows down his nerves. This is still so new, this thing between them, new and delicate and James is still recovering his sense of balance. “They’d been there for a few days, and you always complain about how much useless post you get, and I was tidying up, so—“

“Exactly. You were tidying up. Always tidying up. I wanted that advert, been looking for… something for weeks now, and there was a flyer! Thought I’d keep it and go have a look at the weekend. But no, you can’t leave well enough alone, can you?”

James can feel the dark knot of fear twisting his stomach. “I’m sorry,” is all he can think to say, because what else is there to do? He is who he is: quiet, orderly, controlled, responsible. All those things he lost after Will died, a compass swung too far south, and he thought he’d found his true north once again when Robbie had brought him home and cared for him. Kissed him. James puts his coffee down on the worktop and folds his hands over his stomach, leans back against the sink. Studies the pattern of the lino and bites down on his tongue. 

“Let’s just go to work,” Robbie says, and slams out of the flat. James stares after him, suddenly adrift.

………………………

The entire day is excruciating. James is trying his level best to be efficient, quiet, and helpful, anticipating Robbie’s every need and request. It’s unnerving to watch Robbie’s assessing gaze flick over him every time he brings a cup of coffee or a report. They don’t talk, they don’t touch (not on the job, no, they never do but this feels different, somehow), and James is vibrating with tension by the end of the day.  He wants to throw himself at Robbie’s feet, beg forgiveness for his faults, and receive his absolution.

“You want Thai tonight?” Robbie asks, quietly, the low hum of the car almost drowning out his words.

James is so surprised at this gentle stretch toward normality he forgets Robbie has asked him a question for a moment, and he simply stares.

Robbie frowns , because James has apparently waited a bit too long to answer. “Ah, and now I’ve got the silent treatment,” Robbie says. “Jesus, James, I can’t win with you today.”

“I’m not—I just thought—“

“Let’s just go home.”

James pauses, sets his jaw. “Okay.”

They park the car and James follows Robbie doggedly into his flat, mind whirring. How did it come to this so quickly? He’s certain he’ll not get past this, that Robbie will find him too frustrating, too difficult to deal with and throw up his metaphorical hands, give up before they’d ever truly begun.

They both head into the kitchen, James clearing up the dishes from breakfast he’d not gotten to, Robbie pulling off coat and tie and loosening his shirt buttons before digging around the freezer for something to heat in the oven. He comes out with a shepherd’s pie and James blanches.

“I’ll just have some coffee,” he says, and his voice sounds strained. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, please,” Robbie says, and everything about the exchange, banal as it is, is awkward and tense.

James can’t remain silent in the face of it. “I’m very sorry, Robbie, I am, and I’m trying…” James puts his face in his hands and breathes heavily.

Robbie makes a pained noise, exasperated and fond. “Ah, damn. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like an old bear.” Robbie takes James’ wrists in his hands, tugs gently until James drops his hands from his face, and tries to get James to look at him. James can’t, he’s embarrassed and miserable, his failure lurking around the edges of his thoughts. He’ll never make anyone happy.

“I think I’m just no good at this,” he says. “I can’t seem to get it right.”

 “James, no matter how hard you try, you’re not perfect, no one is. So stop trying so damn hard to hang on to that control.” Robbie grips his shoulder with a strong hand. “We’ve always bickered, you an’ me, but lately you’ve been meek as a spring lamb, so bloody deferential in everything I’m half afraid to touch you. I don’t know if you want me to.”

James finds his fear being pushed to the side, annoyance starting to take its place. “You know that’s not true. Have I ever said no to you?”

“That’s the problem! I don’t know if you would or not! A man likes to feel wanted, you know.”

“I do want you, God, Robbie. I just want to … to be careful, be loving. Show you how grateful I am—“

“I don’t want you to be grateful!” Robbie snaps. “I want passion! I want fireworks!”

“You want fireworks?” James says, anger finally breaking through and cascading down his spine. Without even thinking about the consequences, he flips his morning coffee mug from the worktop with his fingertips and lets it shatter across the floor. “There’s a firework!”  It feels wicked, it feels unwise, but in the heat of the moment it feels satisfying to let his frustration seep through. He does it again, a plate this time, and the smash scatters pieces of stoneware across his toes. “And there’s another! Satisfied?” He’s gleeful at Robbie’s little hop backward to get out of the way, and as he prepares to find something else to smash Robbie grips his forearm and brings their mouths together with such force James can feel Robbie’s teeth on his lip.

“Jesus, yes, _finally_ ,” Robbie says, and pushes a thigh between James’ legs, grinding up against him, and James can feel his cock starting to harden, pressing hot through his trousers. James whimpers, suddenly weak with the rush of adrenaline and arousal and giddy with new understanding that Robbie won’t run at the first hint of dissonance, won’t turn tail from the extent of James’ experience, won’t hide from the depth of James’ affection. 

“Fuck, I… I want you so badly,” he says, and drops his hands to Robbie’s arse and pulls him closer. 

“That’s more like it,” Robbie growls against his neck, before he kisses and nips behind James ear. “Right here.” 

Oh God, Robbie’s voice is dark with need, and James responds immediately, pushes them both away from the worktop and spins them around so their positions are reversed and he can pin Robbie back against the edge of the sink.  He tugs Robbie’s trouser buttons loose and pushes trousers and pants roughly to his knees, before taking Robbie’s cock in hand and giving it a quick, firm stroke.

“Jesus, James,” Robbie breathes against his mouth, and James kisses him, deep and dark and dirty, the sort of kiss he can feel to his toes.

“Want to mark you,” he says, and feels Robbie shiver against him. “Want you to look in the mirror and see me, remember me. Christ, I want that so much.”

Robbie shifts, thrusts a little into James’ hand. “You do, eh? And how long have you been repressing that urge?”

“Forever.” And it does seem like forever, when he’d look at Robbie across the office and feel a tug of possession that frightened him, sometimes. He finally has his chance now, and he starts a slow, steady rhythm with his fist around Robbie’s cock while he cups Robbie’s jaw with his other hand  and sucks a dark red lovebite onto Robbie’s neck, just above his collarbone.

Robbie swears, rocks into James’ hand. Tries to get his hands down the back of James’ trousers and his knee between James’ thighs.

“Shhh,” James says, shifting his hand down to lift and caress Robbie’s balls. “Just let me do this, _please_.” The wrinkles of Robbie’s lips are soft against his mouth, the landscape of wisdom and experience intimately familiar, and James knows how to do this, how to be led by someone who’s done _this_ , who’s rowed and bickered with their partner and come out unscathed a hundred times before.

“Anything you want, if you keep, oohhh, if you keep doing that.”

He does. The feel of Robbie’ cock is intoxicating, and he can’t stop the moans and sighs he breathes against Robbie’s mouth, his neck, his jaw. He can’t seem to stop kissing him, wishes he could do a hundred things at once to give pleasure, to show how much James wants this, wants him, and now that things are a bit more certain in his mind he can throw himself in with abandon and try. He dips his fingers lower, presses against Robbie’s perineum, and back further to rub against his arse.

“Anything I want?” he says. “I’m sure I can think of a few things.” James uses one finger to rub slow circles against Robbie’s opening.

That earns a shout and a few rather peppery oaths, and Robbie’s hips stutter in barely-controlled thrusts. His fingers are tight on James shoulder, and James takes his cock in hand again, finds a rhythm that Robbie really likes, rubs and twists and squeezes until Robbie comes with a shout, pulsing warm and wet across James’ hand.

“You’re amazing,” Robbie says, as they both sink to the floor, leaning against the cabinets. Robbie looks wrecked, shirt collar askew, pants and trousers around his knees, hair sweat-damp and a ridiculous, satisfied smile on his face. “You’re a brilliant and kind and a damn good detective, and if you’re a smartarse sometimes you’re _my_ smartarse, and if I’m a grumpy bastard sometimes because I’m so used to having my own way, I’m _your_ grumpy bastard, and we’ll work it out.” Robbie picks up James’ hand, traces his fingers across the palm. “Just trust me, please.”

James’ heart feels swollen with happiness, ready to burst. “All right,” he says, and smiles. “Then may I risk bringing up a difficult subject and ask what you were looking for in the adverts?”

Robbie goes white, then pink, and purses his lips in indecision. “All right, fine. I was looking for a bigger bed, one that your bloody long legs won’t hang off of.  That okay?“

James laughs, delighted. “If you’re honestly that invested, then I won’t scare you when I say you drive me insane when you leave your socks in the loo, I’m picking the next restaurant, and I want to fuck you so badly right now it’s actually painful.”

“Socks, eh?” Robbie says with a wry grin.

“Yes. And your shorts, oh my god.”

“And dinner tonight, anywhere you like.”

“Excellent. Italian, Carmer’s, garlic bread and all.”

“And as for that other thing…” Robbie says, and playfully strokes his chin. “Well, you can’t have your own way all the time.”

James laughs, swings his leg over to settle on Robbie’s lap and kisses him, hard, “Then I’ll have to do my best to convince you.”

“Yeah? And how do you plan to do that, may I ask?”

James laughs, pulls Robbie to him in a swift, hard hug. “Fireworks,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> I freely admit I stole the bit about fireworks from the last third of the only episode of Sex in the City I ever saw. It came to mind as I was writing this, and wouldn't go away.


End file.
